Chapter Two
Nathaniel Bexley sat back and stretched his arms over his head. His wooden desk chair squeaked in protest. He loved working for the Sporting Magazine, but sitting for hours at his work table was sometimes even more exhausting than a strenuous walk in his uncle’s vast woods. But then, having a lame foot did make walking more of a challenge. Even in light of that, a stroll right at that moment sounded wonderful. Birds chirping. A soft breeze tugging at his coattails. Too bad he couldn’t drag his work area outside and at least get some fresh air while he labored.
While a good portion of his duties took place inside, there were times when he was required to scout out possible ideas for future stories. Since it was a men’s sporting magazine, those almost always took place out-of-doors.
With the warmer weather approaching, his uncle would soon have need of Nathaniel to do just that. It was fine by him. More than fine. Not only did he enjoy being outside, it also gave him a respite from his obnoxious—
“Taking a break, are we?”
Nathaniel jumped and swiveled in his chair. His cousin, Stratford, strutted into the room. Yes, strutted, because there was no other word for his lifted chin and puffed out chest. As if the entire world should stop and take notice of him simply because he drew breath. Simply because he was.
While Nathaniel resembled his cousin in appearance and coloring, he’d never walked around like a peacock showing off its colors. For one reason, peacocks didn’t limp. Plus, he was more the type to stand in the background, watching others do things he wished he was brave enough to do and hoping he wouldn’t make a fool of himself in any way as he kept his vigil in the corner.
The resemblance between the cousins was close enough that people who didn’t know them well might confuse them unless they stood together. Nathaniel was one inch shorter, skin a shade paler, and had not the bulk in his shoulders.
Always slightly lacking, it seemed.
“A well deserved break, if you must know.” Nathaniel eyed the case clock in the corner, which struck ten. He’d been toiling away for hours already. “By the way, where have you been, Stratford? I’ve been here doing the work of two while you’ve been elsewhere.”
“Getting a little cheeky with your betters, aren’t you?” Stratford raised one eyebrow, eyeing Nathaniel like he was an insect he wished to squash.
Nathaniel clenched his jaws together. While it was true that Stratford was higher up in the company than he, it wasn’t that much higher. The fact that Stratford’s mother came from money made Stratford point out, and often, that Nathaniel wasn’t his equal. And never would be.
Since Nathaniel lived with his aunt and uncle, he didn’t have the luxury of avoiding Stratford. Perhaps the fact that his wayward cousin was often absent from work was a sort of blessing. At least then Nathaniel got some relief from his constant prattling on.
Stratford smirked. “If you must know, I’ve just come from the colorman’s shop on an errand for Mother.”
Well that explained some of it. Aunt Hortense could be quite demanding. But his cousin’s expression was puzzling, as if he were a cat who’d found a vat of fresh cream hidden in the kitchen and didn’t have to share with his fellow felines. Why would doing his mother’s bidding amount to all of that? Usually Stratford whined like a small boy when he had to do anything for someone else.
“And while I was there—” Stratford removed his coat and hat, hanging them carefully on wall hooks nearby. “—I met the most luscious young woman.”
Ah… Now it made sense. Because there was never a time when Stratford did anything for anyone out of kindness. If he didn’t gain something of what he deemed to be of value from it, he’d complain incessantly about the toll the task had taken on him.
Nathaniel restrained himself from the eye roll that threatened. “How nice for you.”
“Yes, it was. More than nice. I very nearly lifted her skirts right on the spot.” He tugged at his cravat. Did he find the room too hot? “The woman, a red-haired vixen, had alluring green eyes and was quite tall for a female. The top of her head came to my chin. For a little while she and I were quite alone, if you didn’t count the old woman asleep on a bench. I might have had opportunity to do more with the young woman than talk had the annoying little man who works there not happened to interrupt.”
Surely a person wouldn’t actually do more than talk in a public place. Nathaniel eyed his cousin. Although if anyone dared, he would. It was always the same. Stratford set eyes on yet another beautiful woman, made promises of wedded bliss, seduced her, bedded her, and tossed her aside like smelly refuse. Then went on the hunt for his next conquest.
Poor women. Nathaniel wondered from time to time if any of those unfortunate females ended up with child. He glanced at his cousin again, highly doubtful he ever gave it a thought. Once he’d had his fun, he appeared to care not what happened to his conquests. But even if they didn’t end up with child, what would their lives be like? If they weren’t already a light-skirt, if for some reason the woman was from a good family, then she would be ruined for anything resembling a good life with a husband after that.
It was all so selfish on Stratford’s part. His cousin was nothing if not self-absorbed.
Stratford sat down in his chair across the large room. He smirked as if he’d already gotten away with something and couldn’t wait to share the details. “If I could only get my hands on that delectable body…” His fingers clenched and unclenched, acting out grabbing onto said woman’s flesh.
Nathaniel did roll his eyes that time. It couldn’t be helped. It was always the same with Stratford. There would be more work accomplished in the office if his cousin didn’t speak so often of this woman or that. And discuss doing despicable things to whoever the unlucky woman at present happened to be.
Nathaniel thought of his cousin, Annabelle. Didn’t Stratford ever stop to think about his own sister’s possible plight when he took advantage of those women? How a disreputable man could do the same to Annabelle some day? No, probably not. That would involve scruples, of which Stratford had no possession.
As for Stratford’s younger brother, Walter, how was he to become anything other than a rake while watching Stratford his whole life and trying to emulate him? The young man believed Stratford was the sun, moon, and a lemon tart all rolled into one.
Nathaniel tapped his fingers on his knee. Although… a small part of him did often wonder a bit about what it would be like to be with a woman, to do more than kiss her. To touch her and…
Enough of that. Those thoughts will only get you into trouble.
Still, he’d yet to meet a woman who stirred more than a desire for kisses. It was one thing to suffer through his cousin’s version of making love to a woman. But somehow with the ladies Nathaniel had kissed, he couldn’t imagine wanting to do more with them. Was there something wrong with him?
“You should have seen her, Nathaniel. Full plump lips with just a touch of red to entice me to want to rub my tongue across them. Hips broad enough to grab onto as I have my fun with her. Breasts large enough to—”
“Please.” Nathaniel held up his hand. “Spare me the details.”
“You’re certainly out of sorts.” Stratford narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized Nathaniel. “Perhaps if you bedded a woman or two you’d have a better outlook on life. Might loosen you up a bit. You’d certainly be more fun to be around.” He shook his head slowly. “Being skin to skin with a soft female, inhaling her scent, tasting her lips… There’s nothing like it. Everything all hot and moist…”
Heat crawled up Nathaniel’s face. Many other young men of his acquaintance chose to bed several women before the benefit of marriage, but he wasn’t one of them. “That’s none of your affair, cousin.”
Stratford snickered at the word affair. “I could be of assistance, you know. Give you some advice. Point you in the direction of women with loose morals.” He grinned. “Introduce you to my favorites, the ones who will do absolutely anything a ma
n desires. Tell you the best way to go about—”
“No. Thank you.” The notion of doing anything with a woman who would lift her skirts for just anyone nearly made him queasy.
With a one-shouldered shrug, Stratford said, “As you wish. Only trying to help a fellow out. We are family, after all.”
That kind of help, Nathaniel didn’t need. The idea of being with a light-skirt was distressing enough. But imagining it with someone that Stratford had already—
No. Don’t think about it. Nathaniel forced his attention back to his work. But he couldn’t stop the images from crashing through his mind. Of women. Beautiful, desirable women. Given the chance, would he even know what to do? Not that he would accept Stratford’s advice. Ever. If it were the right woman for Nathaniel, surely he’d know instinctively how to proceed.
Loud footsteps came from the hall. Nathaniel would recognize his uncle’s lumbering gait anywhere. He turned, ready to receive the weekly scolding Uncle Gilbert gave both of them for not getting their work done. Funny how when he berated them, he always addressed Nathaniel not by name but by staring at him. Although Stratford was the one who neglected his work.
Uncle Gilbert entered through the open door and slumped down in the nearest empty chair. Severely overweight, the poor man always appeared to be exhausted even if he’d only walked a few yards. Nathaniel often wondered how long the man would live. Surely his heart was on borrowed time.
Stratford, still not doing anything productive, set his quill on the blotter and angled his chair around. Stratford’s expression was sincere, and his hands were placed politely on his lap. Ever the dutiful, hardworking son.
Nathaniel nearly lost his breakfast.
“Gentlemen,” wheezed Uncle Gilbert between breaths, “the magazine is floundering. Floundering, I tell you.”
The fact that he said the exact same words weekly and the magazine continued to thrive didn’t seem to make any difference. Perhaps it made him feel that he was doing something of importance to belittle them.
Uncle Gilbert pounded his fist on his knee for emphasis, then scowled down at his lap as if someone other than himself had just inflicted discomfort. “We must, must come up with some new ideas for growth. Scour the city if necessary, but we desperately need different incentives for gaining additional readership.”
Again, Nathaniel could nearly say the recitation word for word in his head along with his uncle. Did the man not remember that he’d said the same words seven days ago? And every week before that? Or did he just not care?
Uncle Gilbert didn’t have to work, of course. But spending time at his magazine office seemed to calm him somewhat. Perhaps being with Aunt Hortense too many hours of the day was overwhelming. Nathaniel could understand that. The woman was an acquired taste. Stratford, as the son and someday heir, didn’t need to work either. But Uncle Gilbert insisted that Stratford spend time at the office. Did his father think Stratford would someday end up in a loveless marriage as he had? That he would need an outlet, an escape from his wife?
“Find me some new ways to lure people in to subscribe to Sporting Magazine.” He pointed his stubby finger at Nathaniel. “Or you might both just be out of a job come this time next month.”
Stratford would never lose his position. Nathaniel was certain that even if Stratford set the building on fire, Nathaniel would get the blame.
Yes, that’s me, the irresponsible one…
With much effort and not a little heavy breathing, Uncle Gilbert pushed against the arms of the chair, teetered once, and finally straightened, as much as he ever could, to head back out of the room.
Nathaniel turned back to his desk, noticing from the corner of his eye that Stratford did the same. Their movements resembled a much practiced choreography that occurred once a week. Stratford didn’t act worried about his position at the magazine. But then, why should he? He was never reprimanded, at least not directly. His father seemed to think he could do no wrong.
What would that be like? To have all the money one could ever want, to wile away the hours of the day doing something one oughtn’t and still be treated like a prince.
I’ll never know. That’s for sure.
His own parents had died of consumption so long ago, Nathaniel barely remembered them. Maybe that was just as well. He was grateful for a place to live with his uncle and also a paying position, but watching Stratford get away with so much was hard to take.
Of course, it had always been that way. Even as boys. Stratford stole the freshly baked tarts cooling on the windowsill. Nathaniel got blamed. The gates to all of the horses’ stalls were left open, and the horses had to be corralled again. Nathaniel was denied dessert for a week.
And on it went. When they were young, it had bothered Nathaniel but the stakes were higher now that they were adults. To lose one’s livelihood was just the tiniest bit more important than not getting cake or tarts for a sennight.
Then there were Stratford’s conquests and his constant need to brag in detail about them. Sometimes Nathaniel couldn’t sleep for the mental images his cousin had conjured up for him earlier that day. Images of blondes, brunettes and redheads tortured him in his dreams when he finally did drop off to sleep.
Many women had shown him interest. Until they discovered he wasn’t Stratford. They’d flutter their eyelashes or drop their handkerchiefs where he was sure to notice. But when he’d draw nearer to them as he tried to hide his limp, they’d blink, murmur something under their breath, and suddenly scurry away like frightened mice.
Resembling his cousin was a curse.
He let out a sigh and went back to his work, but he couldn’t shake all of Stratford’s earlier talk of the lovely red-haired goddess. Would there ever be a special woman for Nathaniel? One with whom he could share everything — thoughts, dreams, love? A woman who would be interested in him for him instead of his resemblance to Stratford?
Time would tell. Though with his cousin always hanging about, what chance would Nathaniel ever have?